


Gun Play

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gunplay, Guns, Non Consensual, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prentiss used to play this game, but never with a gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gun Play

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, you should probably be warned that there is a highly non-consensual element to this fic. Also, this is fiction, please do not ever play an actual game of Russian roulette.

The gun presses against her cheek, and she can't help but shudder at the way the cold metal feels, the way she can tell it's the hollow barrel of a gun against her face. It's a real gun, too, maybe a revolver.

Definitely a revolver, she ammends as she hears the tell-tale clicks of the chamber sliding into place with a spin. The unsub leans over her and asks, “Agent Prentiss, have you ever played Russian Roulette?”

It shouldn't make her shiver, the feel of the barrel tracing her cheekbone and caressing her temple. It shouldn't make her ache deep down in her stomach. It's not even that she isn't scared—quite frankly she's terrified. But underneath that lies a surprising and equally terrifying arousal. She just isn't sure what to do with that.

“Well?” the unsub demands. “I'm waiting.”

“I've never played Russian Roulette, no,” she answers honestly. “Not with a gun, anyway.” The barrel slips a little, slides from her temple to her hairline, and she shivers again.

“Ah,” the unsub hisses. “But with something else. What? What did upstanding Emily Prentiss do that was worthy of being called Russian Roulette?”

She hesitates a moment, not wanting to share this part of her past when she knows the team is listening in, monitoring the house for the chance to rescue her, but she also knows that keeping the unsub talking is probably her best chance at staying alive, so she swallows her pride and answers him. “In high school,” she explains, “my friends and I—we used to play with shots of alcohol. Only one of the shots wouldn't be straight alcohol, it would be laced with cough syrup, or we'd dissolve a tab of whatever pills we could find in it. Then we'd mix up the glasses and everybody picked one, and you drank. And whoever got the spiked drink was out.”

“Mmmmm,” he hums, then turns it into a giggle. “Would you like to play the real game, Agent Prentiss?” he asks. She shudders again as he slowly slides the gun down along her jaw and over her chin.

“Not—not really, no,” she answers, again being honest. “But I doubt I have much of a choice in the matter.”

“You really don't,” the unsub agrees. He jams the gun underneath her chin and releases the safety. “Good luck, Agent Prentiss,” he whispers to her, soft and low and oddly intimate. And then he pulls the trigger.

She shuts her eyes, mouth open to gasp for air, and her entire body jerks with a white hot, almost orgasmic jolt of pleasure. She sucks in air hard, and opens her eyes. The unsub is smiling at her. She can hear the hollow snap of the hammer triggering an empty chamber ringing in her ears, and she feels like she might collapse at any second, but she's alive. She can't stop her stuttered, “Oh—oh, I--” but she cuts herself off before she gives anything else away, either to the unsub or to her team on the outside.

“Oh, Agent Prentiss,” the unsub giggles removing the gun from under her chin and tucking it in his waistband happily. “We are going to have such fun together, you and I.”

Emily lets herself slump down, her knees going out as her team—her friends—break down the door and burst into the room, immobilizing the unsub and making sure the rest of the rooms are clear. She presses fingers to her chin, to the place where he'd put the gun and tried to kill her, but instead of horror and that sick feeling in her stomach she normally gets when she looks at case-related injuries, she just feels a strange, warm glow.

It throws her so much she doesn't even protest when they put her in an ambulance and ship her off to the hospital.


End file.
